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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158989">Ghost Stories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltermitty/pseuds/waltermitty'>waltermitty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Steve and Bucky [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Bucky Barnes Long Hair, Gay, Graphic depictions of scarring, HYBB, Hell Yeah Bottom Bucky, M/M, Nomad Steve, Old Steve Rogers, Top Steve Rogers, Yearning, but he sexy, gay as shit, post Endgame, steve rogers - Freeform, torture induced scars, torture is not referenced, wrap it up, yearning like you would not believe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:28:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltermitty/pseuds/waltermitty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve reunite if you can call (stalking and confronting the man you love to his apartment) it that. Set after the events of the pre-existing marvel cinematic universe. Nomad Steve is back like we know and love him, and Bucky, well he's seen better days, but he's still Bucky Barnes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Steve and Bucky [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1253897</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Ghost Stories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This one is heavy in two things: angst, and fucking. Bucky's appearance is more reflective of the torture he went through at the hands of Hydra. I tried a different approach than the more mental aspect of his torture and wanted to focus on how I imagine he'd look after 20 years spent as a secret Nazi organization's personal weapon. The Fucking part comes more towards the end. I don't follow through well with chapter fics but this one asked for it. please air on the side of caution for the following reasons:</p><p>In the first part it's mostly steve and bucky talking, steve internally cataloging Bucky's new appearance. There is a lot of mentions of being disfigured and tortured, as well as scarring and missing teeth. I don't reference the torture in-depth for any reason. It does get referenced, but not to a specific event or reaction that caused permanent damage.<br/>In the second chapter, they fuck. It's gay, it's sloppy. please enjoy (:</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I see the crystal raindrops fall</em>
</p><p>
  <em> And the beauty of it all Is when the sun comes shining through</em>
</p><p>
  <em> To make those rainbows in my mind</em>
</p><p>
  <em> When I think of you sometime </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I wanna spend some time with you</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>------------</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I ain’t ya Brooklyn pretty boy no more Stevie” </em>
</p><p>The words echo in his head like a mantra, slithering through the dusty pink matter there and finally settling right behind his eyelids. It was almost comical, he thought, the glimpses of the Soldier leading him right back to Bucky.</p><p>The man before him wasn’t the man he loved in his youth. It certainly wasn’t the lithe, tan little thing that Steve had in his bed. It wasn’t the man a foot taller than him on a good day, it wasn’t the man that Steve had married that freezing night in Azzano, shoved into his tent, teeth chattering, tears sticking to his cheeks as he slid that simple silver band onto that bony, cracked finger. Bucky was standing there, however, backpack clipped neatly together across his broad chest, hair hanging in tangled rivulets, obscuring his face almost as much as that muzzle had. He’s wearing a maroon henley and these obscenely tight black jeans that stick to his giant thighs like a second skin. The only indicator that he’d even been on the run was the worn-out tac boots on his feet, the tips scuffed to hell. He had half gloved hands shoved into the pockets, only removing them from their denim prison to very gently slide a note towards Steve, of course, attached to a dummy grenade.</p><p>
  <strong> <em> “Does he remember me?”</em> </strong>
</p><p>The thought eats him up immediately, pancakes long forgotten. He feels himself reach for the note like a starving man coming upon an oasis in the desert.</p><p><em>“Yes Rogers, I do remember ya.”</em> The note is written in Bucky’s unmistakable drawl, scribbled onto a pink post-it. Steve laughs out loud, a bark, the air-punching out of his lungs like Bucky’d come up behind him and slapped him between the shoulders.</p><p>The note still stuck to his left hand, he reaches up to scrub his right hand across his beard, the drag against his skin a calming antidote he’d picked up after growing it out. He flicks the post it onto the table in front of him and crosses his arms across his chest with what he hopes is stone-cold indifference. </p><p>Bucky gives his naked torso a look of approval before wiping his hair back and opening his mouth to speak.</p><p>“Wipe that shocked look offa ya mug Stevie. It’d take much more than a coupla nazi’s to fry you outta my mind.”</p><p>The voice is not Bucky’s either.</p><p>No, this voice is dark.</p><p>It’s robotic, the rich timbre of Bucky’s voice a poor mimic coming from the man before him.</p><p>“You sure don’t sound like my Bucky.” Steve replies, kicks his bare feet onto the chair in front of him, swallows the wince that threatens to escape. Years of heavy impact-even on his enhanced body has taken its toll. Steve is rapidly approaching fifty, the chest hair the serum had done away with making a bold reappearance.</p><p>He’s graying at his temples now, the fine blond stands now streaked with silver. His voice is gruff, years of barking orders and shouting through comms wearing himself hoarse.</p><p>“Yeah well you don’t look or sound much like my Stevie neither- guess we’re even.” Bucky limps forward, pushes his hair away from his face again, blue eye piercing through the thick curtain, and tilts his head towards the towering stack of pancakes that sit on the simple wooden table, just big enough for two.</p><p>“Suppose so.” Steve hears himself say, halfhearted smile painting his lips.</p><p>Bucky continues forward, a slow drag towards Steve, or maybe food. His hair is now tucked behind his ears, showing Steve just how much this was not a dream. In Steve’s dreams, Bucky was the young man on the Cyclone at Coney Island, he was the pressed and ironed soldier being shipped off to a war even he didn’t realize he wasn’t coming back from. No, this Bucky was too real. This Bucky’s skin was still that beautiful gold that Steve loved, white scars running across his lips and chin. There was a particularly large one that split the side of his cheek open, twisting down onto his throat and disappearing behind his ear. His left eye was white, milky like the marbles Steve would pocket in his youth, rolling around his skull. His right ear is almost sewn shut, chunks of the earlobe missing.</p><p>He grins again, half-hearted as he drags himself closer to Steve. The mouthful of chipped and missing pearly whites mocks him, bile rising in his throat.</p><p>“Till the end of the line, ole man. Innit that what those plaques say?”</p><p>The dull hum is easier to hone in on now that he’s closer, what looks like a sliver grate where his Adam’s apple used to sit. It’s surrounded by those same white scars like it’d been clawed at by something wild.</p><p>“You read that in a museum?”</p><p>“Nah.” Bucky taps his temple with his metal hand, lets the other hang by his side. “Why’s it so hard for ya to understand Rogers? One too many kicks to the head give ya brain damage?” As if to further his point, Bucky yanks the chair out from under Steves’s feet, sending them the few inches to the floor with a loud smacking sound against the hardwood.</p><p>“Can I have these, I haven’t eaten in-” Bucky pauses and reaches for Steves’s arm, the fingertips of his flesh hand brushing against him as he takes ahold of the watch to check the time. “Oh, lookit that. Haven’t eaten in about three days.”</p><p>“Christ Buck.” Steve slides the plate to him, watches as the other man yanks his backpack onto the table, rummages through several pairs of clothes, finally producing a bottle of syrup.</p><p>He sets the bag down at his feet and proceeds to drown the perfectly good stack of pancakes like he’s torturing a member of Hydra themselves. Steve was never a patient man.</p><p>In his defense, his long lost lover had shown up in his kitchen at 9 am, the man he spent over a decade searching for after falling from a helicarrier, waking up in a hospital bed, the broken ribs and jaw the proof that the Solider- Bucky was still alive. That very man was sitting here at his table eating the stack of pancakes that Steve had made for himself to enjoy after his morning run. Bucky pauses with a mouthful of soggy pancakes to meet Steve’s eyes.</p><p>“What? Have I got syrup on my face?”</p><p>“Uh no. You’re all clear on the syrup there pal.”</p><p>“Alright well quit starin at me, ya know it isn’t polite to watch a lady eat.” Steve feels himself roll his eyes so hard he thinks he might’ve popped a blood vessel as the man next to him swallows his mouthful and chuckles to himself as he spears another slice of pancake. He cleans the plate soon after that, swipes a finger through the leftover syrup, and sucks it off with a loud pop.</p><p>“Not that I’m unhappy to see ya pal, but what the hell are you doing in my apartment at 9 am, after oh-“ Steve looks at his watch, mocking Bucky’s earlier watch gimmick, “fifteen years.” He glares at the man next to him with what he hopes is a cold stare, praying the sadness in his eyes doesn’t give him away.</p><p>“Wasn’t ready last time I saw you.” Bucky tucks a knotted lock behind his ear, looks down mournfully at his- Steve’s now vacant plate and frowns a little, corner of his mouth pulled up slightly by the scar carved into the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“Not ready?” Steve presses, scoots in a little closer to the table, and leans forward, careful not to crowd the other man.</p><p>“Yeah Stevie. They’re outta my head for good now, don’t wanna come back n kill ya one night in your sleep ya know. You should thank me, actually.” Steve just nods, a jerk of his head. “I’m not the man you married. Steve. Look at me, baby.” Steve meets his eyes, recognizes the pain behind them. He knows that look well, the fear of uncertainty.</p><p>Steve pauses, the "What don't you get about the word love, Buck-" freezing on his lips. Bucky shifts in his chair at the pause, hair falling back into his eyes as his head tips downward. </p><p>“Just cause you look like ya lost a fight with an alley cat doesn’t change how much I love you. You stink, however, come back n get a shower huh?” Steve hears himself say, Bucky's audible sigh of relief lifting the last of the anger from his shoulders. Not even anger at Bucky, he registers, watches the man pack his half-empty syrup bottle into his backpack and zip it up. No, Steve thinks, he's angry at Hydra, and all of the lost time that mocks him in Bucky's eyes. </p><p>Bucky just grins at him again and stands up, gathers his backpack, and cocks a hip out. “You gonna join or am I takin a shower alone?” Steve laughs again, claps a hand over his chest, and falls back into his chair, can’t help the sound that comes roaring out of him. He laughs like he did when he was a boy, sound unfamiliar after all these years. After a few moments, Bucky joins in, cackling right by his side, palms flat on the table to keep from tipping over. When he can catch his breath, finally, feels like years- feels like he’s back in that frail little body, shaking there just trying to catch his breath, he finds Bucky’s eyes, reaches out- slow and gentle, tucks a lock of hair behind his ear and lets his hand fall to his cheek.</p><p>“Doll," you’ve gotta know I missed you-“ he hears himself start- shaky with it “but you reek.”</p><p>Bucky grins, holds Steves hand to his face and chuckles, something way down deep in his chest.</p><p>“Which way is the bathroom then?”</p><p>The apartment is nice, Steve muses as he leads Bucky down the tiled hallway to his bedroom, the supersoldier sized bed neatly tucked and barren in the corner. The simple chestnut nightstand by the bed isn’t even Steve’s, it came with the place. The previous owner had been an old Jewish couple, had bought it during WW2, they’d told Steve. They had reminded him of Bucky’s parents, soft-spoken and kind. He leads Bucky into the master bathroom, a black and white tiled floor with the same checkered pattern on the wall. The shower was huge, the giant rain showerhead the only “frivolous” item Steve had allowed himself. The sprawling clawfoot tub was yet another gift from the previous owners, sitting untouched opposite the shower.</p><p>“Help your-” Steve turns as he speaks, cutting himself off mid-sentence.</p><p>At some point between the bedroom and bathroom, Bucky had stripped naked, cocky smirk painted on his face at Steve’s silence.</p><p>“Like what ya see huh punk?” Bucky throws the last of his clothes at Steve’s head, limps into the shower, and stares at the knob for what seems like forever until finally, wordlessly, jerking a twisted finger at Steve in the universal signal for "get over here".</p><p>Steve kicks aside the clothes at his feet, closes his mouth, and strides over to turn the shower on. Bucky squeezes next to him, rubs his cheek against Steve’s bare shoulder as the water trickles down onto their bodies. Steve forcefully removes his hand from the knob, afraid he’ll break it from squeezing too hard.</p><p>“Okay- well I’m gonna leave you to it- shampoo and conditioner are on the shelf behind you.” Steve’s soaked, his sweatpants plastered to his legs, doing nothing to conceal the bulge in his pants.</p><p>Bucky, of course, takes notice, and, with great difficulty, removes himself from Steve’s front and steps back into the spray, shoving his hair back against his head.</p><p>“You sure you don’t wanna change your mind? Ya smell pretty bad yourself from that run this morning.” Bucky tilts his head again, lets the water run down his neck and stares at Steve with his good eye like he can see right through him.</p><p>“I’m gonna clean up the kitchen a little bit. Just- enjoy your shower. Towels are under the sink.” Steve mumbles, giving focus to the losing battle between his hard cock and the scene it was making in his pants. </p><p>“Oh I’ll enjoy myself alright-” Bucky runs his metal palm down his chest, wrapping it around his own cock and tugging, never breaking eye contact with Steve.</p><p>Steve swallows and whips around, stalks out of the bathroom, the soundtrack of Bucky’s belly laugh following him out the door. He strides into the kitchen, slumps over the table, and takes a breath, willing the blush in his cheeks to fade.</p><p>-----------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Just the two of us </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We can make it if we try </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just the two of us </em>
</p><p>
  <em> (Just the two of us) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just the two of us </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Building castles in the sky </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just the two of us </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You and I </em>
</p>
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